I always tend to attract the zany. My days in New York proved that, from a roommate who thought she dying of a dreaded disease to another who kept forgetting to go to work, to a zany mother who wore a sandwich board to work to impeach Bush and another with a portrait of herself in a prom dress hanging over her mantle (right beside a stuffed bobcat), the borderline crazy seem to find me.
Here in Sevilla its no different. In five days, this is who has crossed my path.
1) My friend Salima, who has told her husband she is a lesbian as to not have to involve herself in such marital acts.
2) My 'landlord' Josef, who has yet to change his clothes since Tuesday.
3) Carmelo, the neighborhood drunk, who 'lost her ass'
4) The man with the birds who frequents Jonathan's in search of cigarettes
5) And maybe myself, as watching these characters in their daily lives amazes me, its humorous and my one goal is to write about them and the stories of their lives.
Yep, maybe we are all a little crazy, but here in Sevilla, it just makes you normal.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Spanish Culture
When in Spain, especially Southern Spain, there is little point in visiting museums and galleries unless you are interested in Spanish history. To experience Spanish culture at its best, wander through the winding streets until you see an animated group speaking in Spanish. They will be smoking, drinking at an odd hour of day (somewhere between 2-3pm on a Friday), and quite often there will be several generations all gathered around - bambinos, grandmothers, teenagers and obvious parents.
As an American, and see this scene, I often wonder if the people here ever work, and that is still very much in question. Everyone says they do something, but in reality from observing from my perch at the cafe they exit their homes and come to Jonathan's cafe for a coffee and like me, they rarely leave except to get lunch or dinner somewhere else.
On Friday afternoon, I had told Saber I would come by his shop and have lunch with him. I was expecting a package from the States, and I hoped it would arrive somewhere around this hour.
At Jonathan's, a crowd of three quickly morphed into 12. There was the couple from across the street - the woman I had met in my apartment earlier that day as she was helping Josef pick out paint - the wife of the bar-owner next to Jonathans, and her grandchild and her brother, and the mother of the child and her sister. There was the blonde woman I remembered from this summer who always spoke to me in speedy Spanish although I understand nothing. She apparently had lost weight and in an attept to tell me this said that she had 'lost her ass'. There was Chocolate the dog (pronounced Chi-co-latte) and the German opera singer. And Saber, who is an equal character with his crazy hair (think of the guy from SuperBad with out of control locks) and his smoking habit to rival a chimney. And me... el rubio Americano, as I have been known in this area for almost a year, The Blonde American.
This is Sevillian culture at its best. Afternoons spent with cerveza and tapas and friends. Animated conversations that rival those seen on Broadway. Passionate statements about life shared with the masses. And the more people you can fit around the table, the better. And if you run out of room, its time to get a bigger table!
Its this carefree, all-inclusive society that I love about being in Sevilla. People take time to relax and share part of themselves with neighbors - as that is what neighbors do. At Jonathan's bar I have had a tab running since Tuesday, and there is no pressure to pay it, there is always tomorrow, and trust is immediately given, even to an American like me.
Its a funny little world here, and one that I am happy to be a part of for a little while longer.
As an American, and see this scene, I often wonder if the people here ever work, and that is still very much in question. Everyone says they do something, but in reality from observing from my perch at the cafe they exit their homes and come to Jonathan's cafe for a coffee and like me, they rarely leave except to get lunch or dinner somewhere else.
On Friday afternoon, I had told Saber I would come by his shop and have lunch with him. I was expecting a package from the States, and I hoped it would arrive somewhere around this hour.
At Jonathan's, a crowd of three quickly morphed into 12. There was the couple from across the street - the woman I had met in my apartment earlier that day as she was helping Josef pick out paint - the wife of the bar-owner next to Jonathans, and her grandchild and her brother, and the mother of the child and her sister. There was the blonde woman I remembered from this summer who always spoke to me in speedy Spanish although I understand nothing. She apparently had lost weight and in an attept to tell me this said that she had 'lost her ass'. There was Chocolate the dog (pronounced Chi-co-latte) and the German opera singer. And Saber, who is an equal character with his crazy hair (think of the guy from SuperBad with out of control locks) and his smoking habit to rival a chimney. And me... el rubio Americano, as I have been known in this area for almost a year, The Blonde American.
This is Sevillian culture at its best. Afternoons spent with cerveza and tapas and friends. Animated conversations that rival those seen on Broadway. Passionate statements about life shared with the masses. And the more people you can fit around the table, the better. And if you run out of room, its time to get a bigger table!
Its this carefree, all-inclusive society that I love about being in Sevilla. People take time to relax and share part of themselves with neighbors - as that is what neighbors do. At Jonathan's bar I have had a tab running since Tuesday, and there is no pressure to pay it, there is always tomorrow, and trust is immediately given, even to an American like me.
Its a funny little world here, and one that I am happy to be a part of for a little while longer.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Things One Must Get Used to in Spain
In Spain, there are several things one must get used to on a daily basis.
1) Spanish school kids go on field trips daily. Every morning as I set off to run, there are boards of kids standing out in the 'calle' my apartment resides.
2) The elderly love tours of Sevilla. You can find them in every nationality at every hour of the day following some yellow flag through the streets of Santa Cruz. They often follow right behind the school groups which can make it impossible to get through the tiny twisting streets.
3) Every hour is happy hour. People get drinks - cerveza or vino - starting the moment they wake up, but its not like they drink all day. A beer is equal to a Coca-cola. They don't drink to get drunk but to quench thirst.
4) No one is a stranger. Just like in 'the South' in America, you wave, smile or offer a 'Buenas Dias' or 'Como estas?' to every one you pass. Its consider rude not too. In cafes you speak to those around you regardless if you know them or not. People do not keep to themselves here.
5) The Spanish care about the environment. All light switches have motion sensors that turn off automatically. When you shower the only way to ensure you have enough hot water is to turn off the water between rinses. And when you dine out, napkins are not given readily.
6) Just as it is acceptable to drink at any hour, its also acceptable to eat at any hour -- but not much. Tapas are common to provide a curb to hunger, and to ensure that if your friend you are meeting in an hour is hungry, you will still be hungry enough to share a bite with him as well. In Spain, you never go hungry, but you are never quite full either -- at least what we know of as full in America.
Its been three days, and already a list of Spanish idiosyncracies are compiling themselves. I can only imagine how long this list is going to get.
1) Spanish school kids go on field trips daily. Every morning as I set off to run, there are boards of kids standing out in the 'calle' my apartment resides.
2) The elderly love tours of Sevilla. You can find them in every nationality at every hour of the day following some yellow flag through the streets of Santa Cruz. They often follow right behind the school groups which can make it impossible to get through the tiny twisting streets.
3) Every hour is happy hour. People get drinks - cerveza or vino - starting the moment they wake up, but its not like they drink all day. A beer is equal to a Coca-cola. They don't drink to get drunk but to quench thirst.
4) No one is a stranger. Just like in 'the South' in America, you wave, smile or offer a 'Buenas Dias' or 'Como estas?' to every one you pass. Its consider rude not too. In cafes you speak to those around you regardless if you know them or not. People do not keep to themselves here.
5) The Spanish care about the environment. All light switches have motion sensors that turn off automatically. When you shower the only way to ensure you have enough hot water is to turn off the water between rinses. And when you dine out, napkins are not given readily.
6) Just as it is acceptable to drink at any hour, its also acceptable to eat at any hour -- but not much. Tapas are common to provide a curb to hunger, and to ensure that if your friend you are meeting in an hour is hungry, you will still be hungry enough to share a bite with him as well. In Spain, you never go hungry, but you are never quite full either -- at least what we know of as full in America.
Its been three days, and already a list of Spanish idiosyncracies are compiling themselves. I can only imagine how long this list is going to get.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
I am an American. Not Rich.
Upon landing in Roma, I had a rude awakening. The apartment I had sorted out was no longer sorted out. The texts I had sent to the apartment owner had not gone through, and she did not know I was arriving, or that my plans had changed so drastically. She wanted to double the price of the apartment although I was staying less than a 1/3 of the time.
To help sort this out, I called Saber, who has always been a gem when it comes to sorting out my issues. Mostly because he speaks English, but also because he's a cool guy and known for being fair. He told me he would contact the woman and that I should come to his shop when I arrived.
When I entered Santa Cruz, nothing had changed. The cobbled streets made pulling a suitcase a nightmare. The twisting 'calles' were easy to get lost in, and when I rounded a corner there was the intersection that had been my calling card last spring - Jonathan's bar to the right, Saber's shop to the left, and the apartment building they both lived in between. The white buildings with yellow trim shone brilliantly against an azure sky and the shadows on the cobbled stones easily marked the sunny side of the street from the other. There was a spot in the sun at the cafe waiting for me.
Right at 3PM, Saber claimed to be hungry and needing a drink, so we went to Jonathan's to sort this out. He let me know that the woman 'Nuria' had Spanish mentality and assumed because I am an American I am rich. (Boy, someone needs to straighten her out pronto!).
Through several conversations between Saber and Nuria and then Saber and Josef, I had an apartment. NOT with Nuria. For the time I would be there it made so sense to rent at the rate she was asking. So I went with Josef's apartment.
It was time to have my own place in this citrus-scented place, even if just for a little while.
To help sort this out, I called Saber, who has always been a gem when it comes to sorting out my issues. Mostly because he speaks English, but also because he's a cool guy and known for being fair. He told me he would contact the woman and that I should come to his shop when I arrived.
When I entered Santa Cruz, nothing had changed. The cobbled streets made pulling a suitcase a nightmare. The twisting 'calles' were easy to get lost in, and when I rounded a corner there was the intersection that had been my calling card last spring - Jonathan's bar to the right, Saber's shop to the left, and the apartment building they both lived in between. The white buildings with yellow trim shone brilliantly against an azure sky and the shadows on the cobbled stones easily marked the sunny side of the street from the other. There was a spot in the sun at the cafe waiting for me.
Right at 3PM, Saber claimed to be hungry and needing a drink, so we went to Jonathan's to sort this out. He let me know that the woman 'Nuria' had Spanish mentality and assumed because I am an American I am rich. (Boy, someone needs to straighten her out pronto!).
Through several conversations between Saber and Nuria and then Saber and Josef, I had an apartment. NOT with Nuria. For the time I would be there it made so sense to rent at the rate she was asking. So I went with Josef's apartment.
It was time to have my own place in this citrus-scented place, even if just for a little while.
Returning to Sevilla
There are things we forget about things we love. Maybe that is a person, or a place, a home or a car, but whatever it is there are things we often overlook, not so much out of necessity but out of desire to make them more desirable.
On my return to Sevilla - the return that started out as a lengthy (maybe lifetime) switch, and then shrank to a few weeks - everything is sure to be different this time around. Mostly because I am different. I am no longer 'the New Yorker just off a broken engagement', that changed last spring when I became 'the American Writer' who spent every afternoon writing in Jonathan's cafe. Granted I have never had anything published, but at the time that is what I wanted more than anything... that, and to have a good time.
Anyway, this time the story is different. I have a new job I am excited by, a new beaux I adore, and when I return to my hometown in Cartersville, I have a new life to assemble. Life has been one constant stream of changes from early 2009 until now. I am happy to see the element of stability being applied. (and I am sure, so is my mom!)
When it comes to stability, there are a few things Sevillano's are known for - running late, traveling in groups, and taking like slow. Its the latter that I loved so much last time, and I hope the slower pace helps me this time too. It never hurts to slow down and think for a bit, contemplate life and next steps. Fortunately, Sevilla is the perfect place to do that - either at Jonathan's cafe, nestled under a tree by the river or a sunny spot in Parque Maria Luisa.
There are so many scenes in this life I adore.
On my return to Sevilla - the return that started out as a lengthy (maybe lifetime) switch, and then shrank to a few weeks - everything is sure to be different this time around. Mostly because I am different. I am no longer 'the New Yorker just off a broken engagement', that changed last spring when I became 'the American Writer' who spent every afternoon writing in Jonathan's cafe. Granted I have never had anything published, but at the time that is what I wanted more than anything... that, and to have a good time.
Anyway, this time the story is different. I have a new job I am excited by, a new beaux I adore, and when I return to my hometown in Cartersville, I have a new life to assemble. Life has been one constant stream of changes from early 2009 until now. I am happy to see the element of stability being applied. (and I am sure, so is my mom!)
When it comes to stability, there are a few things Sevillano's are known for - running late, traveling in groups, and taking like slow. Its the latter that I loved so much last time, and I hope the slower pace helps me this time too. It never hurts to slow down and think for a bit, contemplate life and next steps. Fortunately, Sevilla is the perfect place to do that - either at Jonathan's cafe, nestled under a tree by the river or a sunny spot in Parque Maria Luisa.
There are so many scenes in this life I adore.
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